Unholy Nights: A Twisted Christmas Anthology (21 page)

His hand moved to her breast, brushing lightly over her, and the wet bra provided no protection against the stimulation. She pressed closer, but resisted the almost overwhelming urge to climb onto his lap.

That would require emerging from the water and, even though she was burning up, she didn't want to leave the cocoon of hot man and hot water that was keeping her toasty. Plus, she had to remember that anyone could look out of the house and see, at least, their silhouettes. If they had been complete strangers watching her, she might have taken the risk. But the people in the house included Cabot's siblings and friends. For some reason that she couldn't rationalize right now, she didn't want to offend any of them.

But she couldn't pull away from Cabot either. Her hands roamed over his back, savoring the solid muscles there that bunched and rippled as he leaned over her, both hands now on her breasts. Her head fell back against the side of the hot tub, but the discomfort was minor compared to the sizzling thrill of his mouth plundering hers, his hands gentle on her, but growing firmer as he reacted to her response.

He pressed one knee between her legs, and bore her further back against the unyielding wood wall. The cries in her throat became stronger and he suddenly yanked his mouth off hers.

"Shit," he said. "I'm hurting you."

"Kissing me to death," she said. "Without even any mistletoe in sight." She tipped her chin down and smiled up at him through her eyelashes, knowing exactly what he'd do.

She'd felt the mindless tension in him, the overpowering urge of the male animal to mate. But she felt safe. Despite what he'd said earlier, sex in the hot tub with a party full of people nearby was not an option.

"Witch," he said, and grabbed her again, pulling her forward so she half fell on him and his chest was as hard as the tub wall had been. His hands moved restlessly on her breasts now, seeking and molding.

"I thought the Saltonstall men didn't believe in witches," she said. She drew a finger over his lips, first the top one, and then the bottom, while his eyes burned her.

"Clearly, my ancestor had never been bewitched," he said, his voice darker than the night.

"How do you know that?"

"Because a man who has been bewitched doesn't think straight." Abruptly, he closed his fingers around her nipples. "His thoughts swirl in his head with visions of—"

"Sugar plums and fairies?"

He grinned wickedly. "Sex hot enough to make you think of the devil's delights."

His mouth closed over hers again and his fingers tightened slowly until she moaned, and writhed against him.

Although she'd resolved not to invite him back to her room tonight, her good intentions were melting away. Maybe she should sleep with him, to have the experience of this lifestyle for one night. God knows she wanted him, and it might be nice to pretend to be one of the Saltonstalls for a night.

Loud music burst from the house. Dakota jerked her head up to see that someone had opened one of the French doors. Light spilled out. "Hey," the person shouted. "People are in the hot tub."

"That's our exit cue," Cabot muttered. He stood up, heedless of the cold and grabbed her robe. As she emerged from the warm water, he wrapped the robe around her. He held up one boot and then the other so she could step into them. Then he yanked on his own robe and stepped into his flip flops. "Into the house with you," he said.

They collected their bags in the pool house and then he led her up a winding back staircase. He was quiet, and Dakota felt a sense of uneasiness. Was he expecting sex next? Did she want to have sex? Well, of course she wanted to. The question was, would she?

They reached the door of her bedroom. Cabot opened it, but didn't step inside. Which was kind of odd, given that it was his own bedroom.

"I need to change," he said, "and get back to the party. Will you be coming downstairs again?"

She blinked, startled by his cool withdrawal. Was she on the verge of being dumped? That could not happen.

"No," she said. "I'm tired. Thank you for a lovely evening." The polite words made a mockery of the intimacy they'd shared in the hot tub. This was how you spoke after a date when you knew you'd never see each other again.

"Listen." Cabot shoved his hands through his hair. "I need to tell you something."

"No," she said. "You don't." She really didn't want to hear him say he wanted to be friends, or it wasn't her fault, it was his, or any other lame excuse that he might come up with.

"I purposely threw that snowball to get snow down the back of your neck."

She stiffened in surprise. "Why would you do that?"

He looked down at his bare feet, as if afraid to meet her gaze. "I wanted to make you cold so I could get you in the hot tub and then in bed and—" He cut himself off and shrugged. "I was an idiot. I said no strings attached, so we need to stick with that. This is too important."

"What do you mean?"

He sighed. "I can't believe I'm doing this. That's some damned love charm you cast."

"This has nothing to do with love."

"Of course it does. Love requires trust. If I reneged on what I promised, you might not trust me. Sex seems like a good idea right now, but what if you have regrets in the morning and start to think that I took advantage of you? It's not worth it."

"You don't want to sleep with me?"

"You can't doubt that." He pressed himself briefly against her for just a moment, and then she was cold again. "If that feels like disinterest," he said, "I think I'm insulted."

Part of her wanted to giggle. His body was certainly announcing his interest as blatantly as thunder announced a storm. But the major part of her was confused. Why would he deny himself? Deny her?

He touched her cheek, and then her lips. "As much as I want sex right now, there's something I want more."

More? What more was there between two people who had nothing in common but a strong sexual attraction? She was a world traveler who'd never learned to put down roots. He was a strong oak tree with roots firmly planted in this speck of land out in the ocean.

She stared at him. He had wanted her. She hadn't been mistaken about that. But now—now he didn't. His honor, or his word, or something that meant a lot to him, was more important. She didn't know what had happened, nor did it matter. She had to salvage what dignity she could because she didn't
do
being left. She'd had a lifetime of being left behind and she didn't need an encore performance from Cabot Saltonstall.

"Okay, then," she managed to say. "Good night."

She closed the door.

Chapter 6

Dakota strolled through the crowded town of Charlotte Amalie, in the U. S. Virgin Islands. This town was as different from Nantucket as it was possible to be. Except, oddly, Charlotte Amalie had more of the chain stores one could find in any American mall, rather than unique boutiques. The blue-tented outdoor market, which might have sold local goods, instead consisted of little more than counterfeit designer goods and souvenirs made in China.

She ignored the constant offers for taxis, hair braiding and henna tattoos. Instead she tried to enjoy the beautifully sunny day, the lilting Virgin Islands accents and the bursts of sprightly music dominated by steel drums that announced that this was the Caribbean.

If only she could stop thinking about one Cabot Saltonstall, she could relax and enjoy her vacation. She didn't regret fleeing his home, exactly, but she had a sorrow deep inside that wouldn't quit. Why hadn't he contacted her? She'd been so sure there was a special spark between them. She'd tried to tell herself he'd left her bedroom because he was hosting a party, and had to return to his duties. Without admitting it to herself, she'd harbored a tiny hope that he would come back to her when the party wound down.

But he hadn't returned and she'd spent a restless night, wondering at every sound in the hallway if he was going to knock on her door.

When no knock had come, what choice did she have? She couldn't face him in the morning, after a rejection like that. It was simple enough. If he didn't want her, then she didn't want him. She'd developed a simple strategy to have a heartache free love life. No one could ever leave her, if she left them first.

She'd gotten up early and packed her few belongings. The bra and panties she'd worn in the hot tub were dry enough after she'd laid them out on the bathtub overnight. She put on the bra, since it was the only one she had with her. She didn't want to go through airport security without a bra. But the panties...well, they still had a role to play. Her granny's words echoed in her head.
You can only change things when you first create a disturbance in what already exists.

She texted Brenna to tell her she was leaving early and Brenna had insisted on coming to her room to say goodbye.

"What happened, Dakota? Did you and Cabot have a fight?"

"No, of course not." Dakota hesitated. Did she really want to tell her friend that Cabot had dumped her already? "I knew I shouldn't have thrown that love charm into the middle of a cold ocean. I'm too impulsive."

"I don't know if the charm has to work instantly." Brenna bit her lip, her eyes concerned. "You two looked so enamored—" She broke off. "Never mind."

"Cabot is too straight-laced for me. You know I'll have to fall in love with someone footloose and fancy-free." Dakota shifted her bag to her other shoulder. "Like me."

"Are you really like that, Dakota?" Brenna's big blue eyes were warm with concern. "Or do you tell yourself that's what you are because it's the only lifestyle you've ever known?"

"I can't change who I am."

"Sure you can." Brenna hugged Joe's gray sweater around her body. "Where are your parents right now?"

Dakota shrugged, but there was a part of her that didn't feel so careless, and it was an odd feeling. Brenna's bare legs and feet stuck out from the sweater, advertising the fact that she'd slept in the nude, and thrown on the sweater to venture to Dakota's room. Of course, they hadn't brought nightclothes with them, so Brenna hadn't had much choice. But Dakota had to admit, there was a part of her that wished she'd spent the night curled up naked with a man she loved.

"Your brother?" Brenna persisted. "Where is he?"

"He's in the Air Force," Dakota snapped. "How could I know where he is?"

"Why are my questions bothering you? How does that make you feel not knowing where the people you love most are?"

Dakota stared. Hollow. It made her feel hollow. And untethered. She hated not knowing where anyone in her family was. Hated not knowing when she'd see them again. Hated not having a place to go for holidays.

"Okay," she conceded. "I'll try not to be so impulsive. I can learn from the mistake I made with the love charm."

"Dakota." Brenna sighed. "How do you know your problem was with the love charm? Maybe you're being too impulsive sneaking out like a thief at dawn, without sticking around to find out what might happen between you and Cabot? What's the point of casting a love spell and then running from the consequences?"

"I wanted love, Brenna, not eternity. You know?"

Brenna smiled dreamily. "No, I don't know. If you're truly in love, Dakota, you'll want the eternity part also." She held out a hand in entreaty. "Please stay for breakfast and give Cabot another chance. I really thought there was something between you two."

"You're wrong, Brenna. Cabot is not interested in me."

A small child on a scooter almost crashed into her, and Dakota was snapped back to reality. She'd been absolutely right about Cabot. She sighed as she remembered her foolishness with the panties. She was sure they'd been found by a maid who hadn't given a thought to yet another woman who'd left her underwear in Cabot's bedroom. Dakota was mortified to think she'd been that woman.

Exploring Charlotte Amalie wasn't really fun by herself. She decided to return to the hotel, lie on the beach, and hope for sleep to distract her.

On the broad, curved beach in front of her hotel, she rented one of the bright blue lounge chairs, mostly to keep people from hounding her to get one, stretched out, and closed her eyes.

The sound of waves lapping at the shore soothed her a bit, and the bright voices of people enjoying the day made her feel a little less alone. But sleep eluded her. Why hadn't the love charm worked for her? Had she made a mistake spending so much time with Cabot? Maybe she should have circulated more at the party. But she'd tried to be open to meeting someone new on the flight down here, and while walking around the town and the hotel. Men had tried to pick her up. That was nothing new. But she hadn't felt one teeny spark from any of them.

That stupid Cabot Saltonstall had really messed her up.

A shadow fell over her. She flung one arm over her eyes, destroying the illusion that she might be sleeping, but she was not going to deal with any more beach hawkers, no matter how much she knew they were just trying to make a living.

"Not going to work," an angry voice snapped.

She gave a small shriek, even as she bolted upright on the lounge chair. Only one person in her life had that perfect diction.

Cabot stood there, frowning down at her.

"What?" she said foolishly. "What are you doing here?"

"I came for my apology."

His apology? What did he have to be angry about?

But he was furious, his entire body practically vibrating from tension.

Her feet twitched with the urge to run. She could do it. She had a hotel room here. They'd told her when she checked in that the hotel was fully booked. He wouldn't be able to get a room and—

Her gaze connected with his.

Bam.

She wanted him, so badly, that all other thoughts flew out of her head. Even when he was standing there glowering at her, his hair a little mussed from the trip, his shoulders blocking out the sun, still he called to her and she almost stood up and plastered herself against him. She'd created a disturbance, all right.

Brenna's words echoed in her head. You know how to throw things up in the air. But you never stick around to work things out.